Blast from the Past, Part II
by Jada115
Summary: Sequel to Blast from the Past, Part I. Alan and Denny help Miranda with a problem from her past  3rd part coming soon . Based on David E. Kelly's characters.


Blast from the Past, Part II

Alan stewed in silent anger as they drove to the court house. Miranda couldn't understand exactly why he was angry. Was he angry at her or at Derek? Or both? She wanted to ask, but decided to keep quiet. They arrived at court, filled out the paperwork then negotiated with a clerk to have her case moved up the case line; it helped that he apparently knew the perky blonde clerk. Miranda pulled a book out of her purse and opened to her bookmark. He got water for himself and brought her some as well.

She thanked him, took a sip and set the cup on the floor beside her chair.

"What are you reading?"

"Byron." She held up the book so he could see the title.

"_Don Juan._"

"Yes."

He sat in the chair next to her and put his head against the wall. "Could I convince you to read some to me?"

"You want me to read to you?"

"Yes, please; it's been so long since I've read any Byron for myself; it would calm me."

It was an odd request but she played along. She started where she left off:

_They were alone, but not alone as they_

_ Who shut in chambers think it loneliness;_

_ The silent ocean, and the starlight bay, _

_ The twilight glow, which momently grew less, _

_ The voiceless sands, and dropping caves, that lay_

_ Around them, made them to each other press, _

_ As if there were no life beneath the sky_

_ Save theirs, and that their life could never die._

He closed his eyes and let her voice drift over him.

_ They fear'd no eye nor ears on that lone beach, _

_ They felt no terrors from the night, they were _

_ All in all to each other: though their speech _

_ Was broken words, they thought a language there,-_

_ And all the burning tongues the passions teach_

_ Found in one sigh the best interpreter…_

They were interrupted by the officer calling them into the courtroom.

"Thank you," he said, "that was quite soothing." He slowly opened his eyes. He met her gaze and smiled warmly; he touched her knee with a finger, "Let's go, shall we?"

He began speaking as soon as he entered the room, "Hello, your honor, my name is Alan Shore and I am here representing Ms. Miranda Houston who would like to get a TRO against her violent husband, uh, soon to be ex-husband." He stepped aside to let Miranda behind the table and took his spot next to her.

The judge was a balding, middle-aged man, but he had a sharp, athletic appearance.

He peered over his glasses at her. "Ms. Houston I will need to hear your story."

Alan whispered, "Just tell him what you told me."

Miranda spoke nervously spilling out the highlights of the story she had told Alan earlier.

Alan jumped in. "Your honor, apparently the husband, soon to be ex-husband, has stayed away for the past 6 months or so. But this morning he confronted her in the lobby of our offices at _Crane, Poole, & Schmidt—_a confrontation I happened to witness. He grabbed her and threatened her. Apparently, based on what he said to her in the lobby, he not only intends to come back, but has been stalking her—for how long, we don't know—maybe for the whole 6 months. We ask that you please give us the TRO. We will be seeking a permanent one as soon as possible because I believe my client is in imminent danger."

"Mr. Shore. I've heard enough. Ms. Houston, do you have any children?"

"No, your honor."

"Wonderful. That makes things so much easier. You've got your restraining order; a copy will be issued to the husband."

"You don't plan on getting back with your husband do you, Ms. Houston?"

"No, your honor."

"Even better. I would advise that you don't. In 10 days you and your husband…"

"Soon to be ex-husband, your honor," Alan interrupted.

The judge waved the comment away. "Whatever," he continued. "You will both show up 10 days from now to see about the PRO." He banged the gavel.

"Thank you your honor," Alan said. He placed his hand on the small of Miranda's back as he escorted her out of the courtroom.

When they got back to the office, Alan sent Miranda to research some case laws for another case while he placed some phone calls. He would first get those divorce papers signed for her. He called her divorce attorney and had another set of papers drawn up; he asked to have the contract and the bill sent to his office. He then called a few friends who owed him a favor; those papers would be signed—one way or another.

Miranda came back with the research he wanted.

"Close the door, please."

He moved over to the couch and motioned for her to sit.

"Miranda, I'm not going to pretend you're not in danger. You are. For that reason, you should relocate—temporarily. You will be doubly endangered when he gets the TRO—which will be very soon."

"Where would I go?"

"You can stay with me," he said, half-joking.

"At the hotel?"

"Yes. We can even shower together."

"Alan…"

"Or since the hotel have many other rooms, you can have one all your own; it will be like a vacation. There will be room service and fresh sheets and towels, every day if you like."

"Alan, I cannot afford to stay at the Four Seasons."

"I'll take care of it."

"As sweet as that offer is, I can't possibly agree to it; it would be like you're my sugar daddy."

"Mmm," he raked his eyes over her. "I've always wanted to be one of those."

She shook her head, "Well, some other girl will have to fulfill thatfantasy because it won't be me. No. I'm not going anywhere, Alan. I've been doing a lot of thinking today and I've decided I'm not going to run anymore. I've done enough running already and I haven't done anything wrong. I broke up with him—that's not a crime—and I won't be treated like a fugitive for it. Let the son of a bitch come."

Alan smirked. "Miranda, your bravery is admirable, charming even, but I can't be there 24-7. If he…"

"And I don't expect you to be. You've been wonderful about all of this. You just stepped in and took over. Now as much as I admire a man who takes charge without being a bully—ultimately, it's my decision, my life."

"I hear you. My apologies for taking over."

"No, Alan, don't misunderstand. I deeply appreciate everything. You know what to do and how to do it. You're a man of action—you get things done; that's exactly what I need."

He raised his eyebrows.

"Uh, to deal with this," she added. "I'm not faulting you for that in the least. I'm just saying I'm not going to run and hide anymore."

"Very well. You'll stay where you are. Will you agree to let me place a bodyguard with you? Just until we see how Derek will react to the TRO and PRO? This way, we can have a neutral party witness and document any and all events—in case we have to go to court."

"And you're determined to do this?"

"Yes. But I would rather have your consent."

"Well, it's certainly better than moving into your hotel."

"Depends on your perspective."

"Well, I should get back to work." She stood.

He walked her to the door and opened it for her. He walked with her to her desk.

Miranda said, "You do know that if I moved into your hotel I would have to stay several floors away at the opposite side of the building."

"I wouldn't expect anything less; you'd be safer in the farthest corner."

She moved very close to him. "Or perhaps, you would be safer." She winked at him.

He smiled. "I'll be in Denny's office if you…want me," he said softly, touching the small silver lotus charm on her necklace that dangled at the hollow of her throat.

She nodded and watched him disappear around the corner.

Denny sat behind his desk, playing a video game on the television in his office, "Why should I help you? You stood me up last night."

"Denny," Alan said, unbuttoning his suit jacket to sit down on the couch. "I was on a date...of sorts…unofficial."

"A date? With who?"

"Miranda."

"Ooooh," Denny said, looking away from the game; the descending tone indicated his cyber death; he didn't even notice. He put down the controller. "Miranda," he added lustily. "I wouldn't even need my little blue pill with her." He sucked in his breath as his mind traced over the sweet magnolia he hired. "You know, Alan, it occurs to me I should have given you something else for your birthday—keep her for myself." Denny added, coming around to sit on the edge of the desk, "So, details. Did she provide you with a little _Southern Comfort_?"

"Denny, that's inappropriate. All I really wanted was a nice dinner, some conversation …the dancing and drinks at the Quarter Club was not planned, but I wasn't ready to go home or, better yet, to let her go home."

"You mean, you stood me up and you didn't even have sex!" Denny jumped to the floor. "Dammit, Alan. What's wrong with you, man?"

"Denny…"

"No, Alan, I could have forgiven you if you at least had sex with the girl. But you stood me up for a datethat wasn't even really a date."

Denny went to the liquor tray behind his desk and poured himself a scotch. He offered one to Alan.

"It's ten in the morning, Denny."

Denny shrugged and poured the other drink into his glass.

"Denny…"

"You didn't even call. I waited all night."

"Denny, I'm sorry. I should have at least told you. But it was at the last minute. I was going to supper. I didn't want to eat alone. I asked her on my way out. I didn't even really expect her to say 'yes'; then it turned into an all night…affair." He set his jaw.

"Why didn't you ask me? I could've gone to dinner with you."

Alan sighed. "Denny be reasonable. While your friendship provides a great deal nurturance, support, and dare I say it…love, I wanted, _needed_ attention from a _woman_. I haven't had that in a long time—much too long."

"I could've put on a dress or something."

Alan chuckled. "Nevertheless…" He paused then added, "So will you help me?"

Denny pouted. "I just can't believe you let a _girl_ interfere with our balcony time."

"You're right. I'm very, very sorry, Denny."

"If you had at least let me know in advance that you wouldn't be there, I could have dealt with that—but to just be stood up, without a word."

"Please forgive me."

"What about tonight?"

"Tonight is still a little in the air. But I promise if anything comes up I will let you know. So will you help me?"

"Help you with what?"

Alan explained the situation to him.

"Okay, I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you, Denny. I'm sure I speak for Miranda when I say we appreciate your help."

"Anytime."

Alan got up to go.

"Alan?"

"Yes?"

"Maybe, you can help me—a little quid pro quo."

"What can I do?"

"Let me have a crack at her."

"What!"

"Aw, c'mon. Just once."

"I am _not_ going to even justify that…"

"Well, _you're_ not doing anything!"

"Denny, _hands off_! She's mine."

"Is she? I don't think she is; she's married."

"She's separated; she's getting a divorce. And why would you get me a birthday gift that's married?"

"I didn't know."

"Nevertheless; she's my girl, Denny. There are all kinds of girls all over this office—go get one of them!"

"You really like her, don't you?"

Alan nodded. "I'm afraid I do." He winced.

"Then what are you waiting for?"

"I'd like to not screw this one up."

"By not screwing her?"

"Denny…" Alan said, exasperated. He stared at him for a moment, started to say something then stopped. He turned and left the room.

That evening before Miranda went home Alan called her into his office.

"I've been working on your issue."

"I know. I really appreciate you." They sat on the couch.

Her words gave him pause as he studied her.

"I sure have spent a lot of time on this couch today," she said teasingly.

"Well, I look forward to the day when I'll have the pleasure of seeing you grace my couch for one, maybe two hours at a time; my own personal…odalisque."

She smirked, crossing her legs. "Is that all?"

"Two hours is a long time." His eyes slid down her legs.

"I mean, is that all you wanted to tell me?"

He waved his hand. "Actually, I hadn't planned on telling you that at all. I got…distracted." He straightened his tie. "What I really wanted to tell you is that I will escort you home tonight. I will only go upstairs if you ask me nicely."

She cocked an eyebrow.

"Meanwhile, Denny has employed the help of one Mr. Hanson; he will sit outside your house in an unmarked vehicle. He will make sure you get around safely without interfering with your life." He finished off his scotch. "Miranda, you should know, we decided to go with a PI because if we used a police officer the officer would have to arrest Derek on his first infraction against the TRO. Derek would be held for only a few hours—just long enough to get really angry—then he would be released. However, with a PI, we can give Derek just enough rope to hang himself. The PI will document how often Derek breaks the TRO so we can make a case for stalking."

"So now I'm bait?"

"You're bait anyway, Miranda; but this way gives us more legal teeth. You have to trust me on this. Do you trust me?"

"I do."

"It's very important for you to pretend Mr. Hanson isn't there. If you draw attention to him, you'll blow his cover and tip off Derek and we won't be able to catch him. In the mornings, Denny has arranged to send his limo to pick you up."

"Will I have to ride with Denny?"

Alan shook his head, smiling. "No. You'd be safer with Derek."

"I know he's your friend. I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but riding alone with him in a limo…"

He leaned forward to place his hand over hers. "You don't need to explain. I understand you perfectly. Denny has boundary issues—especially with…attractive women."

"Alan, what if something serious happens?"

He tightened his grip on her hand, "Mr. Hanson will call the police immediately."

She nodded.

"Are you okay?" He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb; her skin was amazingly soft.

"I'm scared, of course."

"That's natural. But we are doing everything we can to protect you."

"I know. I'm so sorry I brought all this mess in here. I just wanted a decent job and…"

"Miranda, this is life. We deal with life; it's what we do," he patted her hand. "Get your things."

They stood. She froze, staring up at him.

"You look like you need to say something," he said.

"Can I…" she groped for the right words, "Would you care if I…I just need to…"

"Just say it Miranda."

Her eyes searched his face and since she couldn't say it she hugged him. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing his face against her hair, taking in her scent, enjoying the way her body fit against his.

"You know, Miranda…"

"No more words."

So he held her. For the first time in a long time she felt protected, appreciated.

Finally, she withdrew. "I don't want to go home yet."

"Are you sure? You look tired."

"I am, but I don't want to go home yet."

"Would you like to go to dinner?"

She nodded. "That would be good; something simple, relaxed."

"I know just the place. Let's go."

He took her to Shamrock's, a small, crowded bar and grill. She immediately liked the dark wood walls and dim lighting.

"You're like a prism, Alan. Every time I hold you up to the light and turn you I see a different color."

"I kind of like to think of myself as a kaleidoscope—different colors and shapes all at once with each and every turn."

She took a bite of her sandwich. "This Rueben is awesome. How's yours?"

"Very good." He looked around, taking in the surroundings. "This place reminds me of a place I liked in college."

They ordered another round of Guinness.

"Alan Shore in college," she said teasingly, "I would love to have known him."

He chuckled. "Not very interesting, I assure you."

"Do you mean to tell me you weren't the seductive charmer you are now?"

"Hardly. I was eager enough, but didn't understand the art of seduction as I do now."

"It takes years to refine that art."

"It does."

"And now you're a seasoned master."

He laughed aloud. "You flatter me," he sipped his beer. "But I'd be lying if I said I didn't believe that seduction is at the heart of romance, and romance is necessary to properly woo a woman."

"It's also at the heart of numbness."

"I beg your pardon?" She caught him off guard. He thought she was playing along with the banter; he certainly didn't expect her retort.

"Sometimes people seduce because it's too painful to feel—or worse, they've forgotten how to feel. Seduction becomes a means of keeping people at arm's length, of avoiding true intimacy."

He tightened his jaw and he looked into his beer as he took a drink.

"Seems I struck a nerve. Sometimes my mouth gets ahead of me—sorry."

"No need to apologize, Miranda; you're right."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He smiled tensely. "Not particularly. Certainly not tonight."

"Then I'll get to know you better and ask again later." She bit into a waffle fry.

His eyes widened with recognition. He said the same thing to her last night.

She winked at him and smiled.

"Don't worry, darling, I won't pry for your dark and gloomy thoughts, your deep, tragic secrets. You ought to know I'm a sucker for a Byronic hero. I want to maintain the veil of mystery awhile longer."

"As do I."

"C'mon, Alan. Tell me what you were like in college—there's no danger in revelation there. I can't image you any other way than you are right now: smooth, powerful, sensitive, brilliant.

He laughed, "I'm afraid you have it all wrong."

"I don't think so."

"Don't try to get inside my head, Miranda; it's too messy."

"I'm not. I'm trying to get inside your past."

"That's messy, too."

"Aren't they all?"

He hesitated and felt a little awkward. "I was a little reserved, aloof, bookish—all t-shirts, ripped jeans, flannel shirts, Alan Ginsburg and Bob Dylan."

"In the 80s right?"

"Mm." He nodded, chewing his food.

"No Flock of Seagulls for you, huh?"

"Ha! No," he laughed, shook his head.

Miranda giggled. "I love it. Do you ever feel you were born in the wrong time?"

"Most days."

"You should have been a hippie in the 60s, protesting the Vietnam War and marching with Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr."

"Absolutely."

"When should you have been born?"

"Regency England. Perhaps that would have been a good time for you as well. I could just see you now in a high cravat and pantaloons."

He laughed. "Like your Byron."

"Exactly like my Byron—with your melancholy ways and dark secrets. And I would wear a thin muslin gown with the empire bodice."

Alan's eyes glanced over her breasts.

"Perfect," he purred. Alan played along, enjoying the moment of fantasy and escape. "I have a lovely vision of you in the sun, the silhouette of your form under that thin gown."

"Hair up like this," she lifted her hair. "With flowers in it like a wood nymph."

He smiled warmly. "Intoxicating. It suits you perfectly, I think." His skin tightened; he wanted to ravage her right there in the booth.

As they finished up their meal, Alan's phone vibrated. He left the tip with one hand and answered the phone with the other, "Hello…yes…yes…I know…I won't…I will be there in a couple hours." He looked at Miranda and rolled his eyes.

Miranda put on her coat and pretended she wasn't listening.

"Yes…okay…okay. See you. Bye." He snapped his phone shut and put it back in his pocket. "I apologize for the interruption. That was my lover." He could have said Denny right away but he wanted to gauge Miranda's reaction.

All she could say was "Oh." It had not occurred to her that he might have a girlfriend. Her stomach sank. Why wouldn't he have one? A man like him: powerful, seductive, intelligent—he was attractive in so many ways. She allowed herself to have a crush on a man when she didn't know his situation. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Alan watched her face as she struggled to maintain her composure and pretend she didn't care.

Satisfied that she was adequately disappointed, he let her off the hook: "Denny."

Her face displayed more relief than she really wanted to convey, but he was happy about that.

"Thank you for the distraction tonight."

"You are welcome though I would have preferred to take you some place French, ply you with a rich merlot or champagne and then lick dessert off your belly in _moi boudoir_. I imagine a crème brûlée."

She giggled. "I'm sorry to spoil your plans. Perhaps another time."

He sighed. "Certainly. I'll put that on the back burner, since in reality I have to go to the office anyway."

"But one can dream. So, do you ever stop working?"

"Rarely. In fact, if you weren't such a pleasant distraction I would still be there and would have probably had food delivered."

Miranda watched the cars and buildings pass by. She thought about Alan. People at the office, mostly women, had warned her of him, but she thought he seemed sweet, not at all the man they spoke of; yet she knew he had a dangerous side, that was part of his attraction. God, why did she always fall for men like him? Maybe she should get therapy. She didn't care what the other women said about him, she believed ultimately he was compassionate and sweet—in his own degenerate way. She believed he was inherently misunderstood. He was mysterious—she liked that most about him. She wanted to figure him out and hoped he would stick around long enough…

"Sounds like your deep in thought," Alan said. "May I pry into the meanderings of your mind? I often wonder what goes on there."

"Laundry." She lied, trying to pick the most boring thing she could think of to dissuade him from further inquiry.

"Hm. Laundry." His tone indicated he didn't really believe her. "What about laundry?"

"I have some to do tonight."

"And that's what pulled into such deep thought."

"Yes."

"Why don't I believe you?" he chuckled.

"I don't know. I have no control over what you think."

"Ha! Very well, keep your secrets."

"There's no secret; it was laundry."

"Well, what about you? You were quiet too. Care to divulge what you were thinking?"

"I was thinking about fishing."

"Fishing?"

"Yes. I've acquired an interest in it not long ago. I've only done it once, but I love it. Denny took me to Nimmo Bay in Canada. I had a wonderful time. Caught 15 cohos. He didn't catch anything." he laughed. "Denny got in trouble with the fishing guide."

"How did he do that?"

"He shot a fish."

"He shot it!"

"Yes."

"That's hilarious."

"That's my friend. He makes me laugh."

"So you want to do it again?"

"Absolutely. I think a lot about it when I feel like I need a break."

"I haven't fished for years."

"You fish!"

"Not for several years, I used to fish with my dad. I don't really care if I catch anything. Mostly I like being out in nature, on the water."

"On the water? You go in a boat?"

"Usually. The last time I fished we went deep sea fishing, but I've gone in smaller river boats, rowboats. So you haven't done it in a boat yet?"

"Pardon?"

"Fish…from a boat."

"No. Not yet."

"I think it's the best way to do it—especially at dawn or late evening—nothing around but water, the gentle rocking of the boat, the waves lapping against the hull; you just drop your line in and relax while you float."

He was carried away on the dream. "Sounds delightful. I would like very much to do that."

"Maybe we can do it together sometime."

He chuckled nervously. "You mean…."

"Fish. In a boat."

"Right."

He pulled up in front of her house and walked her to the door. He reached inside her coat to touch her ribcage, feel the softness of her sweater.

"Miranda," he said, choosing his words carefully. "Thank you for the escape—however brief."

"It's fun to get out of ourselves sometimes, take our minds someplace else from time to time."

"I'm afraid I don't do it often enough."

"Sure you do—every time you go to Nimmo Bay."

"I know this may not be the best timing, but when this is finished, which I hope will be very soon, I would like to take you out on a date—an official one. That is, if you aren't bored of me or pissed off at me by then."

"I'd really like that."

"Please, take as much time as you need. I know you haven't been separated for long…"

She smiled. "Alan. When I left him, I left him for good. I don't love him anymore. Understand?"

He nodded.

"I would like to get Derek to understand that it's over and see him go along his merry way before I jump into anything else—just to keep things as simple as possible in my life."

"I understand."

"But I like you and I think we could have fun together."

His face lit up in agreement and he was about to confirm these thoughts when Miranda glanced over his shoulder, and said, "Oh, God!"

Alan turned to see Derek approaching.

"What the hell is this," Derek yelled, waving a paper in the air. "I try to talk to you, to patch things up with you and you have my ass served with a restraining order? Are you friggin' crazy?"

Alan moved forward to shield her; he held a hand out. "You've come close enough. Actually, you've already broken the conditions of the TRO since you're well within 300 ft. of my client. I'm calling the police right now." He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.

"Miranda, why would you do this? I'm trying to make it up to you. I'll do anything."

"You'll do anything? How about sign the divorce papers, go away, and leave me alone."

"I believe my client has made herself very clear," Alan said. "I would advise you to leave now unless you want to spend the night in jail."

"You bitch!"

"Well, I'm convinced of his undying love for you, Miranda. Certainly he has won your heart back forever," Alan said.

"You know what, pal? Up yours."

Alan added. "That's it, now _I _love you, but I'll tell you up front, unlike Miranda, I don't mind be slapped around a little. I like it a little rough, but not too hard; I bruise easily."

"Don't antagonize him, Alan." Miranda whispered behind his back.

"Sorry, Miranda," he laughed. "I just can't help myself; it's what I do."

"Your little lawyer boy won't be able to protect you forever, Miranda—and neither will this little paper."

"Oh my, that sounds like a threat, Derek. May I call you Derek? I feel so close to you now, like we've really connected," Alan said. Then he turned to Miranda. "He's not very bright is he? Threatening you while standing too close, both which break the TRO _and_ there's a witness, who happens to be a lawyer that could put him away for a very long time."

"I'll wait," Derek said maliciously; then pointing a finger at Alan said, "You'd better watch your back, buddy."

Alan smiled smugly.

Derek stormed away.

Alan turned back to Miranda. "And so it begins. I would really like you to reconsider staying someplace else. I'm really concerned about you being here alone tonight."

"I've made up my mind."

"I can come back later. I can stay over if you like. Slide under the covers next to you and wrap myself around you—you know, security in numbers."

She shook her head, smiling. "I'll be fine."

"You have my number if you change your mind."

"Yes. I have Denny's too," she rolled her eyes. "He's given it to me three times already."

"No doubt. He would probably be better for you actually. He's less moody and unflinchingly optimistic."

"Yes, but I like Byron, remember?"

"I haven't forgotten for a moment. I will call you sometime tonight."

"You don't have to do that."

He nodded. "I know."

"Thank you, Alan—for everything."

"If you need _anything_ don't hesitate to call me, okay? If he comes back you call the police first, even though you're being watched, then you call me. Got it?"

She nodded, "Okay."

He kissed her forehead then her cheek and waited until she was safely inside before he left.

He worked in his office for a while and called Miranda before going to see Denny.

"Is everything okay?"

"Mostly quiet, but he's called me a lot on my cell. I don't know how he got my number. I had it changed when we split."

"How much is a lot?"

"About 15 times, but I don't answer it. I'm going to have my phone number changed tomorrow."  
"Wait on that, if you can stand to, until we're done with this. We want to snare him tight."

"Okay."

"Has he had any other contact?"

"He's emailed, too—a few times."

"I'm going to meet Denny, but I will have my phone on me; it will be on if you need me for anything—nothing is too small. I'll call back tonight before I go to bed."

"Okay."

Alan joined Denny on the balcony with his cigar and scotch.

"It's about time," Denny said grumpily. "I've been waiting for at least an hour."

"I had some work to finish up."

"At least you didn't stand me up like you did last night."

"How many times do I have to apologize for that?" He said, sitting in the chair beside Denny.

"Well, it upset me. I've never been stood up before. I'm Denny Crane."

Alan looked at him and shook his head, rolled his eyes.

"So how's it going with uh, what's her name," Denny said, snapping his fingers.

"Miranda."

"Yea."

"We had dinner together again tonight. We talked."

"Yeah, about what?"

"Just things. Nothing too deep or special. But she got to me. It's as if she understands me in a way that few women have before. At least not since…" He set his jaw and took a sip of his scotch.

"Since?"

"My wife."

"I'm jealous." Denny sat up. "She doesn't understand you better than I do. Does she?"

"How could she possibly? But if any woman had a chance…." he trailed off, puffed his cigar.

"Did you sleep with her?"

"It was only dinner, Denny. Besides, we would rather wait until her divorce is final."

A few moments of silence passed.

"I'm concerned for her Denny. Her husband…"

"Soon to be ex."

"Showed up tonight."

"Really?"

"You want a gun?"

Alan rolled his eyes. "No."

"I could shoot him for you."

"I appreciate that, but I think I'll try the law first."

"Have it your way."

"He's a brute of a man, Denny. He towers over me. She is so tiny compared to him. When I think about someone his size beating on someone so much smaller than him…" he paused. "It makes me angry—the unfairness of it, the injustice. And then to say he loves her…." He scoffed. "It's almost more than I can bear."

"That's why you need a gun. Levels the playing field. Like David and Goliath."

"A gun instead of a slingshot?"

"Exactly."

"I don't know. There's already too much violence in this world Denny."

"That's something you liberals don't understand: you can't get any peace without cracking a few skulls."

"A common justification for war."

"Right."

Alan shook his head and sipped his drink.  
"Will you promise me something?" Denny sat up and leaned on the arm of his chair.

"What?"

"Will you get me her sweater?"

"Who? Miranda?"

"Yea, get me one of her sweaters."

"A sweater?"

"Yes. One that's been worn—preferably one that still has her perfume on it."

"Good God, Denny! I will not get one of her sweaters for you."

"Her panties then."

Alan stared at him.

"Denny, even if I _wanted _to get those items for you, which I assure you I do not, I don't even have access to her clothes. We are not sleeping together."

"Oh, all right." Denny grumbled. "This is the last time I get you a secretary for your birthday."

"Legal assistant."

"Same thing."

"I didn't ask for one."

"Yea, but I got her for you because I love you and now you won't even share her with me. If you loved me, you would share."

"Hands off, Denny. I mean it. You have Shirley. I have Miranda."

"Be that way. Selfish." Denny sulked up.

"Did you ever consider she may be my Shirley?"

"What?"

"You know, how Shirley is the great love your life, Miranda may end up being mine—my Shirley. Would you want to ruin that?"

"Ooooh. I never thought of that. Do you think she is?"

"I don't know, but I would like a chance to find out."

They and sat quiet for a few moments.

Alan said, "Sleepover?"

"No!" Denny barked. "You won't share Miranda, you can't sleep over."

"You won't share Shirley."

"That's different."

"No it's not! It's the same."

"No sleepover."

"Fine then."

"Fine."


End file.
